Eve of Destruction
In my endless rotation of weekly hikes, it was time to return to the 10,000′ peak east of town. It was looking to be another hot day, but as usual during the monsoon, I was hoping for cloud cover and maybe even rain later in the day.
Starting from the trailhead I saw damp ground in the shade, evidence that it had rained last night or late yesterday. Vegetation was lush and humidity was high as the sun beat down on me. Since the first half of the 5-mile hike to the peak is exposed, I was racing to climb up into the shade of mixed conifer forest. And I was scanning the sky for clouds that might develop into thunderheads.
I’d gotten an early start, and I reached the peak shortly after noon. I immediately started down the backside on the continuation of the crest trail, into old growth firs and meadows deep with grass and ferns. I came across several deer and a small flock of wild turkeys, maybe the same I’d seen here a few weeks ago.
At the saddle that marked the end of the maintained trail, I decided to try fighting my way through the big blowdown that blocked the rest of the crest trail. It descends into a broad bowl that funnels into a ravine. The trail has been mostly obliterated. I climbed over log after log, found a remnant of the trail with a couple of old cairns, and continued down to the bottom of the bowl, where I faced even bigger logs. There, the trail ended in a heavily eroded gully where debris – piles of rocks – had filled in where the trail used to be. There was no clue where to go next, so I turned and fought my way back to the saddle.
On the return hike, moving slower, I noticed wildflowers I’d missed on the way in. I’m sure I’ve seen most or all of these before, but they seemed new and exciting. I heard thunder overhead, and it began to rain, but never hard enough to require my poncho.
The temperature up there dropped thirty degrees or so, and despite the sporadic rain, my sweat-soaked shirt soon dried out. I continued to make my way in and out of dark cloud shadows, rain, and brief spells of sunlight, enjoying the flowers along the way.
Finally I reached the highway and drove home.
The next morning I woke late, went to the bathroom, smelled smoke, and suddenly smoke billowed out of the heating vent at my feet. I ran outside in my bedclothes, yanked the basement door open, and saw my basement engulfed in flames. I ran back inside, called 911, rushed into pants and shoes, grabbed my keys and wallet.
My music studio is directly over the partial basement, so I raced in there and grabbed the two instruments I’d taken out of storage – my precious electric guitar and a cheap electric bass. Then I ran outside. Police were arriving, blocking off the street.
I moved both my vehicles out of the driveway. Finally after a few minutes, a fire engine arrived. Firemen ran hoses down my driveway. The police moved me out of the way, to where my neighbors were gathering. I couldn’t see what was going on at the back of my house, but smoke was coming out of my roof. I was terrified and in shock.
Much later, another fire engine arrived, and they ran another, larger hose to the back of my house. I asked for information but there was none available. I asked why there weren’t more engines and firemen, and they said this was all that was available now.
More and more smoke poured out of my house. After an hour or so, I could see firemen coming in and out through my front door. They’d opened all my windows. I was told the fire was under control but they had to clear the smoke. They set up a fan at my front door.
Looking down the alley, I could see a growing pile of blackened, sodden trash. They were pulling everything out of the burned basement. It was all my personal records – letters, cards, journals, research, projects, graphics, photos, etc. since earliest childhood. My camping gear. Old clothes and shoes. Nothing much of material value, lots of sentimental value.
Gradually, the firemen and police left. The fire marshall stayed for hours, investigating the source of the fire. In the end, he had no definite conclusions, but the water heater and old electrical wiring were possible culprits. There remains the question of insurance, which keeps me in a state of uncertainty.
My neighbors have been wonderful as usual. One fed me breakfast as I waited for the fire marshall’s investigation. I’ve moved into the guest room of their house next door. Every five minutes or so I remember something I need and return to my damaged house. The kitchen and bathroom are coated with black soot, and a toxic smell makes it hard to spend more than a few minutes in the house. But other than soot over everything, and the charred back corner of the structure, the damage is limited.
It’s sad because my builder was just finishing his restoration of my back porch, with its floor of antique oak tongue and groove. Most of his work has been destroyed, along with one end of the floor. All the utilities to my house have been disconnected, and I will need to hire an electrician, a plumber, and a licensed contractor to get everything going again. Not to mention the cleanup.
Living from minute to minute. So lucky I woke up as the fire was just starting! So lucky the firemen were able to stop it from spreading!
